


Happy Like Home

by thistleghost



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cute, Family Fluff, Found Family, M/M, St. Petersburg, Yuri is happy, Yuuri and Victor are good parents, post season one, that's basically the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistleghost/pseuds/thistleghost
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky wouldn’t admit it, but he’s happy. It’s not the happiness of winning gold, fierce and burning but as fleeting as a shooting star. It’s not the happiness of landing a quad loop perfectly for the first time. It’s not like making Lilia proud, or standing high above JJ at the Grand Prix Final. It’s not like too much champagne in his stomach afterwards, buzzy and effervescent. No, it’s not quite like that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just want Yurio to be really happy, ok? Sorry there's no Otayuri, I'm working on a bigger fic for them. Also! There's no beta (waaah) so please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes; I'd really appreciate it!

Yuri Plisetsky wouldn’t admit it, but he’s happy. It’s not the happiness of winning gold, fierce and burning but as fleeting as a shooting star. It’s not the happiness of landing a quad loop perfectly for the first time. It’s not like making Lilia proud, or standing high above JJ at the Grand Prix Final. It’s not like too much champagne in his stomach afterwards, buzzy and effervescent. No, it’s not quite like that. 

Right now, he’s happy like eating warm pirozhki’s with his Grandpa, tired and achy after a long day of practice. Happy like climbing into bed and nuzzling his cheek into his cat’s silk-soft fur, like feeling bittersweet nostalgia settle in his throat when his Grandpa comes to tuck him in. 

“I’m too old for this,” he argues, but he’s so tired that the words come out as a soft yawn. He feels happy settling over his body like a warm blanket. 

In St. Petersburg, skating with Yuuri and Victor, dancing with Lilia, baking with his Grandpa, Yuri Plisetsky feels happiness like home. Belonging and comfort settle into his stomach like sticky honey. 

He wakes up early, leaving the house quietly so he won’t disturb his Grandpa, and runs to the rink where Yakov is waiting to yell at him about his sloppy footwork. Despite his coach’s criticism’s, Yuri knows he’s skating better than he ever has before. He feels at ease on the ice, every step and jump purposeful. His body hasn’t changed since the grand prix and he feels confident in his skin, sure of his center of gravity. He trusts his arms to raise gracefully as he makes each jump, his feet to land sturdy on the ice. 

Sometimes he trains with Yuuri and Victor. Victor still likes to give him annoying advice, but Yuuri is always satisfyingly in awe of Yuri’s progress. They’re both working hard to prepare for the upcoming season, but Yuri’s not threatened by their skill. The idiots are too wrapped up in each other to focus fully on skating, and he’s sure he can beat them. He doesn’t have the same distractions. 

Once, Yuri came to practice to find them skating together on the ice. They danced without music, silent but perfectly in synch. Yuri saw the way Victor supported Yuuri from behind, hands gripping the smaller man’s waist. Yuuri’s head was tipped back against Victor’s shoulder, the pale curve of throat exposed to the Russian’s gentle kisses. Yuri stood, frozen, as they twirled across the ice, lost in their own world, and then he turned away. His stomach twisted sickly. God. He was disgusted by that fairytale romance shit. 

In the afternoons, Yuri goes to practice with Lilia. She’s not any easier on him now that he’s won his first grand prix medal. She still puts him through a grueling series of stretches, and then barks instructions as he dances.   
“Straighten your neck, Yuri,” she snaps. “Remember to keep your feet pointed—and don’t forget your hands! Keep it pretty, Yura. Strength is nothing without beauty. Learn to have both, and I won’t have much left to teach you.” 

However strict she is, Yuri knows that Lilia cares for him. After their lessons, she passes him lotions for his bruised feet and cold-chapped hands and glares at him until he rubs them in. She’s always fussing over his hair, too. 

“Yura, do you own a comb? Yes? Well then why don’t you use it? Remember, a prima ballerina must be pristine. Tch. Look at all these tangles,” she sighs, and brings out her own fine comb, pulling Yuri out of his stretch to brush through his hair. She complains, but her hands are gentle as she works out the tangles one by one and pulls the feathery strands into a neat braid. “There now. You’ll have to cut it short if you can’t take care of it, Yura. Beauty, remember? Beauty.” 

Yuri just growls and goes back to stretching. It’s not his fault that he has no patience for dealing with his own hair when he pulls himself out of bed at 5:00 in the morning, and it’s not his fault that he barely has time for a shower between his skating practice and Lilia’s dance lessons. Is he supposed to tell Yakov to wait while he brushes his fucking hair? He laughs, at the thought of asking Yakov to be patient while he ties his hair into a pretty bun. 

Lilia glares at him for laughing, but the corner of her mouth twitches. She’s not so bad, for a dance teacher. 

Once or twice a week, Yuri is dragged along to his least favorite event of all time, something Victor cheerfully calls Required Family Dinner in the groupchat Yuri pretends to ignore. He only shows up to tease Victor about his old-man lifestyle and eat too many pork cutlet bowls. 

Today, he’s tired and grumpy after a long week of practice. His Grandpa’s sick, just a cold, but it’s still a background hum of anxiety in his mind. He hasn’t had any time to call Otabek, not since the previous week when Yuri introduced the Khazak boy to his cat over skype. When he reaches Victor’s apartment, he almost considers just turning around. He’s not sure if he can deal with either of the sappy idiots coddling him tonight. 

Before he can decide whether to knock with his fist or just slam his head into Victor’s door until he passes out and forgets about this stupid week, the silver-headed idol himself is opening the door. The smell of katsudon and hot tea flows out, and Yuri sucks it into his nostrils, hungry for food and warmth. 

“Yurio!” Victor is smiling like he hasn’t seen Yuri in weeks, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. 

“Ach! You old geezer, that’s not my name” Yuri reminds, but he’s basically given up on the hope of destroying the stupid nickname, so the reply comes out softer than he planned. Victor just smiles at him.

“Come in, Yurio. My Yuuri is just finishing the katsudon and Makkachin’s eager to see you—he misses you!” Victor pouts. Yuri glowers. My Yuuri. Disgusting. These fools expect him to eat with them, but everything they do makes him want to throw up. 

The meal is good. Yuuri acts like a mother, filling his bowl again and again until Yuri is stuffed and sleepy. Victor babbles on about how proud he is of Yuuri’s jumps. Yuri’s so full and warm, sitting on their couch with Makkachin sprawled over his lap, that he doesn’t feel annoyed. Hardly.

He wakes up to Yuuri shaking him gently by the shoulders. “Yurio, wake up Yurio. We have a present for you” he pushes his glasses up his nose, looking embarrassed. “Sorry for waking you. Victor’s just really excited to give you the present.”

Yuri squints at him. “It’s not my birthday.” 

“Yeah, I know. But we were shopping and we saw it and thought of you! It’s just a small gift.” Then Victor is bounding into the room and shoving a small bag filled with crinkly tissue paper into his lap.

“Ah, Yurio. I hope you like this gift. I want to be a good father to my only son!” Victor’s face is too close to his. And too happy. 

“I’m not your son!” grumbles Yuri, but he’s already unwrapping the gift. In a moment, he’s pulled a soft cashmere scarf out of the paper. It’s creamy white with small black leopard spots knitted into it. 

Yuuri grabs one end of the scarf and loops it around Yuri’s neck. 

“Oi! Katsudon! You’re strangling me!” Yuri snaps. The scarf is downy soft and as warm as a kitten. His eyes prickle hotly. 

“Victor, Yuuri. My grandpa’s sick. I have to go home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He doesn’t want to look at their shiny happy faces. He might embarrass himself by thanking them or something. 

He pulls on his coat and rushes to the door. Behind him, Yuuri and Victor stand cuddled together like some sort of sickening love alien. Disgusting. “Yurio! We love you!” calls Victor. “Stay warm, Yuri!” reminds Yuuri. 

“Yeah, yeah! Goodbye old men! Bye, Makka” he shouts as he closes the door behind him and steps out into the cold night air. 

The streets are quiet at this time of night. Above him, the stars are unusually clear in the deep blue sky. Large snowflakes drift down, settling lightly in his hair and on his eyelashes. Under his feet, the snow has frozen to ice. He slips a bit and twirls, feeling almost like he’s on ice. 

The chilly air nips at his nose, and he tucks his hands deeper into his coat pockets. He nestles his chin into the soft folds of his new scarf, inhaling the scent of cashmere and expensive shops and the faint, warm aroma of fresh katsudon. Walking alone through St. Petersburg, dancing in the snow when he’s sure nobody is watching, Yuri is completely at peace. He won’t admit it, no. But he’s happy. He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!


End file.
